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After the Quadrille

The lobsters languish in the shade
Hidden among the lilacs.
A luxury roaming the grounds,
One lumpy leader seeking refuge
Among the lilacs.
The lucky line the pavement,
Lost, but alive, lumbering along,
Always seeking the lilacs.
From birth they learn
The last to leave loses all
Even the lilacs.
A lurid vision of the lemming’s
Fate spurs them from leisure,
Feeding their lust for life
Among the lilacs.
The lunar call of love
Shocks their systems,
Luring them from the pot
To trace a laser’s path
To the lilacs.
One loose lunatic, claws
Aloft, garish against the night,
Creeps ever closer.
The lads limp homeward,
Vowing to never again play
Among the lilacs.





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